


Parley

by ehmazing



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ambiguous Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Character Study, Complicated Relationships, Gen, Uneasy Allies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24765943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehmazing/pseuds/ehmazing
Summary: A retainer, a retainer, and a retainer walk into a room…and get stuck there.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril & Dedue Molinaro & Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 24
Kudos: 127





	Parley

**Author's Note:**

> For [SharkTeath!](https://twitter.com/Sharkteath) Thank you for helping to make [my own wishful tweet](https://twitter.com/ehmazing/status/1250149251201392640) come true :')

As far as Hilda was concerned, you should never trust nuns. They pulled the same act with everyone—‘oh dearie me, I’m just a little old lady, totally harmless, pay me no mind’—and that’s how they lulled you into a false sense of security. Then, once you’ve trailed them at a snail’s pace around half the damn convent, feeling bad for bringing three national delegations here and throwing off their prayer schedule, they shoved you through an unmarked door and bolted it before you could blink.

“Hey!” Hilda pounded on the door. _“Hey!_ You were supposed to take me to the meeting room!”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” came the tremulous voice of the Abbess, muffled behind the thick oak. “Lord Riegan was very firm in his instructions. He said the agreement was to meet with the Emperor and the King alone, and to waylay you if you tried to break it.”

“Oh, screw the agreement!” Hilda shouted. “I’m his right hand! He can’t do this!” She took a deep breath, made her voice twist plaintively. “Mother Eileen, I’ve pledged my life and soul to protect my lord. Please, let me perform my duty—if I’m not by his side, who knows what could happen?”

A pause. Then a wheezy old chuckle.

“That was a very good try,” the Abbess chided, “but it’s been done before. I’ll return to fetch you all when the meeting is over, Lady Goneril. Just as Lord Riegan said.”

Hilda gave the door a mighty kick as she heard the shuffling footsteps recede.

 _“Fuck,”_ she snarled. She gave it a second kick for good measure. “Fucking _nuns.”_

“You’ll hurt your foot doing that.”

By instinct, Hilda reached for Freikugel, only to remember it was—where else—in the pile of weapons they’d surrendered. She whirled around with only clenched fists at the ready, angry enough that she was sure her hands could do the same job as an axe anyway.

But she found herself facing only a small cluster of rickety chairs, one of which was working hard to support a fully-armored Dedue Molinaro.

“Oh.” Hilda dropped her fists. “So they got you too.”

Dedue sighed, “Indeed.”

“Then I assume they also got—”

The wall behind Dedue suddenly rippled, the bricks swallowed by a bright violet rift that widened until it could fit the tall man who stepped out of it. He brushed off his black coat and grunted in Dedue’s direction.

“They set up some kind of forcefield around the room. Sound-erasing, very advanced. I suspect a visit was made to the School of Sorcery without your knowledge.”

“Hubert,” Hilda finished. “Sound-erasing, huh? Does that mean if we all scream, no one will hear?”

“The forcefield is around the meeting room, not this one,” Hubert clarified. He looked about as enthusiastic to see her as she was to see him: which was to say, not at all. “Her Majesty and your two lords want to ensure they are truly alone, apparently.”

“King,” Dedue corrected, a hint of ice in his voice.

Hubert’s smile was neither apologetic nor genuine. “Her Majesty, your lord, and your _king,”_ he repeated.

Hilda groaned. “So that’s it? We’re stuck in here?”

 _“I’m_ not stuck,” Hubert said, spawning another portal in his hand in that flippant way mages did everything. Hilda always had the urge to shove them through those, throw their aim off.

“Then why are you still here?”

“You think I’d rather spend the day with the Sisters of Perpetual Devotion of the Sacred Shield?”

“If I really started screaming in here, you might.”

“We’re not stuck,” Dedue cut in. “We’re waiting.”

“Waiting!” Hilda huffed. “Waiting until one of these old hens figures out the leaders of the continent have murdered each other in a soundproof room!”

Dedue looked at her with that hard, try-me stare he sometimes wore, a stare Hilda was very familiar with. An older brother’s stare.

“Or until they’ve brokered peace,” he said. “As we’ve come here to do.”

No one had a retort to that.

After a heavy moment of silence, Hilda sighed. She picked one of the remaining chairs and flopped into it, crossing her arms.

“Wake me up if they bring us any food,” she grumbled, trying to get comfortable. She glanced over at Hubert, the only one still standing. “Are you going to sit, or do you plan on pacing around the whole time like a dog in a butcher’s yard?”

“Maybe,” he said airily, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked slowly past. Saints above, she _really_ wanted to shove him.

“Then do it quietly,” she hissed, and closed her eyes.

* * *

Sleep didn’t come, despite her best efforts. Their room had no windows and no decoration, so there wasn’t much to occupy herself with. Hilda spent her time braiding and unbraiding her hair, picking at her nails, even considered if she could fix her chair’s legs without tools so it wouldn’t rock so much. As a last resort, she started counting bricks, only to be so quickly depressed by the whole concept— _A couple hours without Claude’s chattering and I resort to counting bricks? Sweet Cethleann’s tits, war really did change me_ —that she gave up after fifty-two.

Dedue, the lucky bastard, had managed to smuggle a tiny whittling knife beneath all his plate mail and had been carving some animal she couldn’t discern. Hubert continued to slowly pace, changing direction now and then.

She’d resolved to pry apart the links of her own bracelet just to have the prospect of putting them back together again when Hubert suddenly halted and seethed, “This is ridiculous. We should’ve heard something by now.”

“Do you really think a war can be ended in a few hours?” Dedue was still focused on the block of wood in his hand, shavings trickling over his lap as he worked. “I doubt we’ll be out of here before nightfall. You should sit down.”

“If you’re happy to be shut in here all week, good for you. But I have work to be done.”

Dedue dug in his knife a tad harder, jaw clenching. “You think I don’t?”

“Goddess, if you can hear me,” Hilda mumbled under her breath, picking at the tiny chain links, “I’m trapped with three dozen old women and yet the worst two of them are in this room. I know I haven’t made penance in…a while, but if you could spare any grace…”

She did her best to imagine Hubert and Dedue’s icy standoff was made of hail, each word bouncing off her ears, soon to melt. But like hail, at a certain point she couldn’t ignore being pelted by it.

“—As though the world suffers without your work,” Dedue was growling. “Devil’s work.”

She really hated when Hubert brought out that certain smile. It reminded her of a snake she once saw in a menagerie as a child and the expression it made while it swallowed a rat as long as her arm.

“Then you call yours heavenly, then, by comparison?” he taunted. “How fascinating, Sir Molinaro, to hear your perspective on the sanctity of service. Do you think of yourself as a guardian angel, meant to spare children’s heads from your mad king’s blade?”

Hilda had always thought of Dedue as a sort of pillar: tall, sturdy, unlikely to wobble even if you threw all your weight at it. But now she jumped as Dedue stood so fast he knocked over his chair. It took only three strides for him to reach Hubert, his great hand seizing his collar, pinning him against the wall.

“Hey!” Hilda shouted. _“Hey!”_ Her bracelet links scattered across the floor as she rushed over. She managed to tackle Dedue’s other arm before he could throw the punch. “Enough! We’re under truce, Dedue, remember the fucking truce!”

“The truce is ‘thou shalt neither cut nor cast on holy ground,’” Dedue growled, still holding Hubert by the neck. “Says nothing about breaking his crooked nose.”

“Go on,” Hubert rasped. “Show the devil how it’s done.”

“I said _enough!”_

With a grunt, she used all of her strength to pull Dedue back. He seemed so stunned to be moved at all that his grip loosened enough for Hubert to slip away. Hilda pushed Dedue a few paces further, putting herself between the two of them.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she snapped. “He’s trying to bait you into acting out, so you can make a scene and get Faerghus thrown out of the negotiations.”

Dedue blinked. Slowly, horrified understanding dawned over his face.

“And you,” she whirled on Hubert, “don’t be such an ass. Or I’ll break your nose myself.”

Hubert didn’t look cowed by the threat, but at least he’d stopped smiling.

“I’m calling a new truce,” she declared, crossing her arms. “Not between the nations, between us three. We’re not going to fight like little boys all week. We will neither cut nor cast nor _goad._ Got it? Now both of you, sit down.”

“You don’t have the power to—”

“Hubert,” Hilda commanded. “I said sit. Down.”

Later, Hilda decided, if Dedue stayed on his best behavior, she might slip to him the real trick of getting Hubert to mind his manners: like the menagerie snake, you had to work with his natural instincts. You had to go up the food chain and channel the presence of a predator much shorter and bossier than him.

For now, she simply basked in Dedue’s dumbfounded expression as Hubert clenched his jaw, glaring furiously at her, and then sat down.

* * *

Trying to spark a conversation between them was like pulling teeth. Huge, slimy wyvern teeth, from one that had gum rot from gorging on fish its whole life.

 _Hilda,_ the Claude in her head scolded, _that’s insulting to the wyvern._ _Surely you, sparkling jewel of every social gathering that you attend, cannot be having so much trouble while I’m being sawed in half by the Mad Lion and the Dread Eagle in the meeting room I locked you out of!_

“Come on,” she urged, “we have to have something in common, don’t we? Statistically?” She gestured to Dedue. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Green.”

“Great, mine’s blue.” She ignored Dedue’s confused glance at her clothes. “Hubert?”

Hubert looked at her as though she’d asked him to do something unspeakably heinous, but after using her best impression of an imperial glare he finally grumbled, “Green.”

“Alright! Green! There’s one!”

“Let me guess: up next is our favorite number? Tea? Whether we prefer dogs or cats?”

“You can take the reins of the conversation any time, Hubert.”

“Pass.”

“I have one.” They both turned to look at Dedue. He fiddled with the wooden figure he was whittling earlier; Hilda still couldn’t make out anything more than the fact that it had four legs. “If you had never pledged yourselves into service, what would you be?”

Hilda shrugged. “Still a noblewoman.”

Dedue looked up at her directly, his blue eyes shining. The Claude in her head cautioned, _Careful. Always be wary of eyes that can cut through you: means their brain is even sharper._

“And that’s what you’d truly want to be?” he pressed. “A noblewoman?”

“Why this question?” Hubert sneered. “Are you having second thoughts on your career path?”

“Goading again,” Hilda warned.

But Dedue didn’t rise to the bait this time. He turned his mystery animal over in his hand, running his thumb over its stubby legs.

“Earlier, I was thinking of all the events that had to align to bring us to this room,” he said. “I’ll admit I don’t know the two of you well, but I know we’re different—not just because of the flags we march behind, but in how we live, how we think. I was thinking of how many thousands of things we did differently in our lives, and yet all those differences brought us to the same school, then the same war, and now the same room.” He looked up again at Hilda. “So if you could choose again, from the beginning, knowing that you wouldn’t wind up here: would you still want to be a noblewoman?”

Hilda opened her mouth. Closed it.

“I…” She scratched her arm. “I guess I don’t know?” She looked down on the bracelet she’d reattached. “I’m good enough with making things. Maybe I’d have gone into trade, if my family would let me.” She frowned. “It doesn’t sound appealing, though: setting up a market stall at the crack of dawn every morning.” She shuddered at the thought.

But Dedue’s eyes softened. “No, it’s not easy. You get used to it, though.”

“You’ve worked in a market?”

“My father was a blacksmith. He let my sister and I run the stall while he worked over the anvil.”

Hilda laughed. “Well, that makes sense. Now I know where you got those shoulders from.” She was pleased to see the tease got Dedue to let loose a small smile. Maybe the wyvern’s teeth just needed a little brushing. “Alright, Hubert, you go: what would you be?”

Unlike Dedue, Hubert seemed no softer: just firmly, resolutely bored.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Oh, come on, you can think of something,” Hilda insisted. “Accountant? Tax collector? Tavern fiddler?”

“Nothing,” he said again. “If I wasn’t in Her Majesty’s service, I’d be nothing, because I’d never have been born.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll play your bizarre logic game.” Hilda crossed her arms. “I know your birthday, they posted it at school. How were you born to serve a lady two years ahead of her existence?”

Hubert snorted. “I wasn’t born for Her Majesty, but for my post. House Vestra has managed the Imperial Household for seven generations. Regardless of who held the throne, I’d be behind it one day or another. In order for me to be anything else, I’d have to be reborn as someone else’s son.” He raised an eyebrow when Dedue gave a small chuckle. “And that concept amuses you?”

“It’s not that,” Dedue said. “What I find amusing is that even if we play make-believe, you still refuse to entertain the concept of a choice.”

Hubert’s mouth twitched. His bored face was starting to slip, cracking over the surface. Another warning from her imaginary Claude: _But linger too long on sharp eyes and brains, and you can miss much sharper blades._

“I see. Well, I know this dance.” Hubert picked an invisible piece of lint from his sleeve and flicked it away, as if this conversation was wasting more of his precious time. “You believe, like everyone else, that because I’ve made commitments, I lack choices.”

“No,” Deduce replied. “Only that your… _commitments_ have made you inclined to ignore any real ones.”

Hilda could’ve groaned as she saw the barb snag under Hubert’s skin. Was she going to have to wrestle them off each other every ten minutes? Was this all a ploy to get her to beg the nuns for mercy, or to disgust her so much with the stupid men of the secular world that she left the room an acolyte? Most importantly, why the hell hadn’t Claude escaped the jaws of death yet and come to free her?

“Believe whatever you like,” Hubert said, each word dripping with venom. “But I would rather be known as a mindless drone who keeps passing up choices, than a man who made only one and continues to waste his life on it.”

A dark cloud passed over Dedue’s eyes, but Hilda had had enough of just watching a useless storm brew.

“That’s it!” she snapped. Both of them jumped when she kicked her chair back, making the legs screech against the floor. “Listen up! I get it! We’re all mad about being locked out! So if we really can’t think of anything better to do than sling rocks back and forth, I’ll throw them too!” She raised both of her arms to point to them at the same time. “There’s no winner who made the better choice. You’re the same. You’re _exactly_ the same. Just man up and call your ‘commitments’ what they really are, and we can have a peaceful, quiet time just being mad in our own corners! In fact, I’m taking that one!”

She ignored Dedue’s bewildered face as she started dragging her chair to said corner—the closest to the door, so she could be the first one out of it. She didn’t answer his question of, “What do you mean?’” She sat down with her back to Hubert and Dedue, determined to forget they existed at all.

There was a short, raspy sound. It took her a moment to place it as Hubert laughing.

“Please. You know what she meant,” he said to Dedue.

“Obviously I don’t, or why would I ask?”

“Lady Goneril meant that we should confess we only serve our lieges out of love.” When Dedue made a confused sound, Hubert clarified, _“Romantic_ love.”

“Wh…What?”

“Unrequited romantic love, if you really need me to be that specific.”

Well. Shit. There was staying out of trouble, and then there was missing out on good drama. Hilda weighed one against the other, but considering Dedue’s assessment that they might be trapped till nightfall, the winner was already clear.

She turned around time to see Dedue’s mouth open and close soundlessly like a beached fish. He didn’t blush, but he fidgeted in his seat as he tried and failed to come up with a response. But Hubert only leaned back in his chair with an expression that made her uneasy. The menagerie snake, back for another meal.

“H-Hilda.” Dedue finally managed to say, “if that’s really what you meant, there’s been a misunderstanding. My service to Dimitri—to my king—is based on love indeed. But it’s a love borne from honor and respect. It’s not chivalrous, not principled, to make a pledge based on feelings of—”

“Oh, save it,” Hubert interrupted. “Why plead your case? She’s already made up her mind. Most people have.” He crossed one leg over the other, still smiling that awful, hungry grin. “It’s another thing that binds the two of us, Sir Molinaro: pining, pathetic lovesickness, and a preference for the color green.”

Hilda rolled her eyes. “If you don’t see any point in pleading your case, then you’re admitting you’re guilty.”

“Charge me as you wish. Love, lust, whatever you’d like to call it; I don’t care what other people judge my devotion to the Emperor to be. I’m only tired of being constantly debated about it, as though I wouldn’t know my own feelings.” Hubert stood, clasping his arms behind his back as though he meant to pace again, but this time he moved in Hilda’s direction. She swore if he got close enough, she had enough reason to really shove him now. “But we were trying to find things in common, weren’t we? I think I’ve got a few. I’ll list them, and if you agree with me, you need only raise your hand.”

Alright. More logic games, fine. It wasn’t like she had any better way to spend her time. Hilda nodded her assent. Hubert’s smile turned up a tiny notch, and then it smoothed away.

“Earlier today, when I found myself locked in this room,” he began, “my first instinct was to beat the door down. Once I remembered that would be perceived badly in these circumstances, however, I attempted bargaining instead—only to be informed that Her Majesty anticipated both outcomes and warned the nuns. Do you relate to that?”

Hilda raised her hand lazily. “Wow,” she drawled. “Like you didn’t see me do that through the ether or whatever, creep.”

“I didn’t need to. But to the next: I apologize for my irritability today, but it’s a consequence I have little control over. When I’m separated from Her Majesty without warning, you see, the effects range from dips in my mood to physical pains. Have you ever felt something similar?”

As she raised her hand again, Hilda felt all-too-clearly the churning in her gut that had been there since Claude rushed off in the morning. Then, to her surprise, Dedue cleared his throat as he too raised a tentative hand.

“I apologize too,” he said. “I’ve been affected by the King’s absence just as you described. In other circumstances, I would never have threatened you as I did earlier. That was a terrible loss of control.”

Hubert seemed just as surprised as Hilda by this turn of events, but gave Dedue a small nod. Dedue nodded back. A truce restored.

“But those are all negative things, Lady Goneril,” Hubert continued. “I have a positive trait I suspect we share.”

He stopped right in front of her. She had to crane her neck to look up at him—which, considering Hubert, was probably on purpose—and did her best to channel Claude’s card game face.

“Sure. Hit me,” she dared him.

“Her Majesty can be a hard person to read. In order to lead with strength and conviction, she often disguises her true feelings on many things, even to me. As a result, I’ve developed specific instincts to read her. Looking for movements of her eyes, changes in the shape of her mouth. How she holds her hands, the way she tilts her head. So when I know for certain that she’s happy—truly happy—it’s better than anyone else’s smile or laugh. It makes me feel more victorious than any battle I’ve ever won.” He tilted his head. “Have you ever felt that way, in the presence of your lord?”

Hilda cursed out her heart for having the gall to clench at this. For having the audacity to twist at the thought of Claude’s infinite masks that he put on for everyone else. At the thought of the rare, wonderful moments when she was absolutely certain he wasn’t lying.

“Congratulations!” she shouted, raising both hands over her head to wag them in Hubert’s face. “You used your freaky mind powers to pry open my brain! You won! Name your prize!”

“I don’t need one. I just wanted you to admit that you’re the same as we are.” Hubert put a hand over his heart. “I’ll admit to being in love with Edelgard von Hresvelg—verbatim—if you admit that under the same definition, you’re in love with Claude von Riegan.”

Hilda stood up—for what reason, she didn’t know, but she had some instinct to raise her fists, defend her turf. If only her brain could come up with a witty defense as fast as her body could leap into a brawl.

“That—that is not how—!” she half-sputtered, half-growled. “You can’t just say that because I agree with those, that I feel—that it could be—it’s just—”

“Complicated,” Hubert finished for her. “Isn’t it?”

And with that, he retreated. Adrestia victorious.

Fuck.

* * *

Some time later—ten minutes, ten years, she was going to die here, wasn’t she?—Dedue moved his chair next to hers. Hubert was pacing again, but kept close to the walls. Hilda thought she heard him mumbling to himself, but couldn’t catch what.

“It’s alright to be confused,” Dedue said quietly. “It’s not like most people understand how we feel, or will ever feel it themselves.”

“Yes, but _I_ am not most people _,”_ she hissed. “I want to vomit in my mouth every time I have to call Claude ‘Lord Riegan’ to his face. He’s just _Claude._ I don’t fret over him, I sure don’t worship him, and I am completely unforgiving of his faults. Which he has a lot of! The worst being that he lies to me all the fucking time!” She kicked the leg of her chair as she swung her feet. “This morning, for instance!”

“If it makes you feel any better, His Majesty lies to me too. He’s just…more terrible at it.”

The image of Dimitri trying to tell a convincing lie in the face of a stony Dedue did lighten her mood a little. She nodded to Hubert, lowering her voice to add, “Think Edelgard actually gets things past him?”

“The opposite, actually. He was the first to be locked in here; they wouldn’t need a magical device to keep _me_ out of the meeting room. I suspect he thinks one step ahead, but Emperor Edelgard thinks twelve.”

Hilda sighed. “Damn. We might be screwed on the Myrrdin border then. But hey, I have a question for you.” Dedue raised his eyebrows as she pointed to his closed fist. “What have you been making this whole time?”

“Oh, it’s a—”

There was a flash of light as a sigil etched over the door, and then a strong, foul smell. Hilda gasped as the wood began rotting before her eyes, cracking and splintering until the door dropped from its hinges, the lock clattering to the floor in a pile of rust.

“Give me some credit,” Hubert said. As he walked out of the room, the matching sigil on the floor began to fade away: a large circle that traced the path he’d been pacing all day. “I’m two steps ahead, at the very least.”

 _“I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him someday, Goddess forgive me,”_ Hilda breathed, and seized Dedue by the shoulder so they could both run after.

* * *

They arrived at the meeting room just as the nuns were opening the doors. Dedue took the task of apologizing, because she and Hubert certainly weren’t inclined to. They squeezed through as soon as the opening was wide enough. Hilda was satisfied to get at least one good elbowing in, even if Hubert’s bony ribs did some damage in return.

Edelgard was the first to look up. Her strange crown was sitting on a velvet cloth beside her on the table, but rather than put it back on, she handed it to one of the nuns, who bowed and whisked it away.

“In our tradition, the war crown can’t be worn at peace negotiations, but can’t be retired until a treaty is set,” Edelgard explained upon seeing Hilda’s bewildered face. “Makes for a rather silly routine of taking it in and out of a box every day.” She dipped her head politely. “Hello, Hilda.”

“Emperor,” she replied, because like hell would she surrender a ‘Your Majesty.’

“And hello, Hubert.” A half-smile crossed Edelgard’s mouth. “You picked that lock faster than I expected. Tomorrow’s will be fun.”

“I dearly hope, my lady, that you’re kidding,” Hubert grumbled, but he took her offered hand and they swept past Hilda, arguing-but-not-arguing as he escorted her down the hall. Weirdos.

“Dedue!” She was almost bowled over by Dimitri’s cape as he hurried to the door, looking stricken. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you, but the others insisted it was the best strategy—”

“It’s alright, Your Majesty,” Dedue said. “It wasn’t ideal, but I wasn’t bored.” He produced the wooden animal again. “It’s a bear.”

“Oh! Uh, how wonderful!” Dimitri squinted, turning the carving over. “I love the snout!” He looked up to give Hilda a bow of acknowledgment before they left, praising the artistry of the wooden bear as he went. Dedue threw one last look at Hilda over his shoulder.

 _Bad liar,_ he mouthed, and winked.

And that left…

“Hilda, my star, my angel, my goddess that blesses this dreary earth.” Claude rubbed at his eyes. He was still sitting at the table, papers scattered in front of him. “I’ll throw myself at your feet if you find the strongest wine in the abbey so that I can drink straight from the bottle.”

 _Don’t start now,_ she ordered her heart as she perched on the edge of the table. But it quickened nonetheless. “Edelgard wants Myrrdin, huh?”

“Edelgard wants Myrrdin,” he sighed. “Dimitri wants to expand Magdred. _I_ want to pull my fingernails off if we have those same arguments all week.” He scratched at the stubble on his cheeks, biting back a yawn. “How was your day?”

Hilda felt her face twitch as she smiled.

“My day?” she said sweetly. “My day not coming with you, like you promised? My day locked in a storage room with my mortal enemies?”

“Hey, I was also locked in a room with my mortal enemies.” Claude gathered his papers into a messy stack before tucking them under his arm. “Be nice to the Abbess at dinner and maybe she’ll give you a window tomorrow.”

He stood up and cocked his head for her to follow, to no avail. After a short stare-down, he sighed, shoulders sagging.

“I lied, I know,” Claude said. “I’m sorry. But even if I don’t trust those two completely, I have to start somewhere, don’t I? Retainers who were likely to panic and interrupt was something we three found in common.” He pouted, sticking out his lower lip. “Can’t you forgive your beloved liege?”

“On one condition,” she said, ignoring how her pulse tripped over ‘beloved.’ “No more lies.”

“Of course no more—”

“Period, Claude.” She hopped off the edge of the table. “No more lies from now on.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she cut in, “Even Edelgard gave Hubert an enrichment activity for the day. But me? I had to count bricks. _You owe me.”_

Claude chewed his lip for a moment, inscrutable as always, but then he gave a small sigh. It was just simple enough that she knew it was real.

“Alright,” he vowed, “No more lies.” With a smile, he dipped into a playful bow and then offered his elbow. “Now, Hilda, stalwart guardian of truth and of my life, may I escort you to dinner?”

“You may,” she conceded, looping her arm through his.

And if they looked ridiculous strutting into the nuns’ little dining hall that way, whatever. So long as she was at Claude’s side, Hilda didn’t really care what anyone else thought.

**Author's Note:**

> This was almost--ALMOST--named "Are You There, Goddess? It's Me, Hilda"


End file.
